The Literary Snacks of the Late Night Kind 

There is a troubling aspect to my late-night reading... Whenever my last meal is twelve hours in the past, the books seem to dwell on food. Feasts, luncheons, even the stew-softened meat for the sick start turning my mind towards the emptiness of my stomach, and soon enough I can't get the smell of the boiled sausages, which I know are, yet unboiled, hiding in the back of my fridge. Though I know food at 3 AM is a bad idea, resistance is futile. I rise, and to the kitchen I go.

While waiting for the water to boil, and having picked the sausage I'll boil in it, I consider my options. A generous dab of mustard, and a thich slice of white bread are a must, but this should be a feast worthy of its literary model! I know, olives. Green Spanish olives, and lots of them. The water boils quickly, and the sausage is done in even less time, and there I am, back in my bed (I don't remember when I last ate anything in the kitchen), the Light of Axim shining on me, as I indulge in my pocket feast...